A Tale Of Doings

by Philip Quense

  “OK, fine. Let’s hear what you have to say.” The curly-haired man stuck the barrel of his gun against David’s cheekbone. It felt oddly cold to the touch despite its recent use. “Get your crazy friend to come out and put his weapon down too.”

  David, aware of his danger, lowered his blue rifle to the shrapnel-covered floor. He switched it to the off position; it moaned an electronic whimper as it powered down. The red and green lights flashed on the top of the safety and then dimmed to black. “Off. The gun is off.” He pointed and stood with both hands out at hip level far away from his belt. “Nothing in hands’ reach. No danger to you.” Keep it simple, he thought. No misunderstandings.

  The young man with the square jaw stepped out. He wore black military-style pants and a white athletic performance shirt. “You two OK?” He nodded to the two men on the ground.

  “I guess you can start calling me Stumpy after this expedition, Pat. Damn, I liked that leg too.” David couldn’t help but notice the similarity in the dark-skinned man’s voice to Frank, Mop. The man didn’t sound bitter or defeated. He was actually laughing with good humor, making light of the situation. “But I’ll live as long as we get this leg patched up by a med computer in the next day or two,” he added more seriously.

  “Maybe we can get some of the missionaries to pray over your leg too,” the elder man said.

  The legless pastor answered, “The cross king does tell us to ask for the miraculous. It’d certainly help my ministry and maybe my brother’s belief if this was healed by the very hand of the Savior,” a hopeful smile on his expressive lips. David was impressed by his lighthearted nature even though the other two were babbling nonsense.

  “Hold this on the leg.” The elder man with the bald head and white mustache stood up and gave his fellow intruder a shirt to bind his leg. “Hopefully the medical computer in the transport is still intact.” He turned to stare at the damaged aircraft dubiously.

  “Doubt that, Pa.”

  Just as the three turned back to David, a moving figure flew from behind the gun-slinging young man. Jonathan. The QC officer barrel tackled the foreigner and threw him brutally to the ground, wrestling the gun out of his reach before he had a chance to defend himself.

  The captain punched the man in the face and growled, “My, oh my. You fools thought negotiations were possible after breaking into a secure facility?” He waved the barrel of his threatening weapon at the cowering men and pointed to the hole created by the transport ship. “Let’s see who branded you rabble.” Confused looks. “Corporate infringement of the direst nature. Child stocks in Upbringing know that corporate edifices are not to be destroyed. Wasteful and reckless.”

  The distinguished man with the white mustache and the gleaming bald head pushed his shoulders back, facing the captain. He was tall and lean and had an aura of strength about him. An inner calm.

  David couldn’t help but draw a parallel in attitude to the queer old man from the Gravetless and the Irish fellow. The presence of a leader of people. Not an arrogant stature but a demeanor of wisdom and authority. “Good sir, let us negotiate. My son was rash to pull out a gun and fire at you when we landed. And he is paying for his rashness. You have taught him a valuable lesson.” He bowed in an outdated gesture of introduction and said in an official manner, “We come from the missionary encampments in Tri-Coalition, from across the water, because of a signal that was sent from someone dear to us from this very facility. Our ship lost communications when we passed into Xchange airspace, and the ship’s navigation unit crashed us into the location of the signal. We do not come with military force or harmful intent. We came to talk.”

  The son called Patrick had a bump already forming on his forehead from the recent blow. Jonathan had hit the man very hard indeed.

  “Captain Jonathan, please consider negotiations,” David asked. “This is important to Nnect.” The captain didn’t budge a muscle, thoughts impossible to read. The tension escalated. David could hear Manda and Doc Gus making their way through the rubble across the room. The group stared at the officer, waiting to see what he would do.

  “Stop moving!” The officer swung his elbow hard into Patrick’s face. The barrel of the gun busted a lip open. It bled scarlet on the floor.

  “By the stock! Stop and listen!” David screamed, voice cracking into falsetto.

  “David, you sure this is in the best interest of the corporate improvement and gain of Nnect?” the captain asked. “Not just your improvement.”

  “I’m absolutely certain that this is the only way to regain the recent losses.” David deliberately pulled the air net from his utility belt. It came off his belt with a click, and David showed it to the tense group. “I’ll use this device to bind up the wounded leg.” David was unsure if an offer of aid would be taken seriously. “Will you allow me to stop the bleeding?” He looked earnestly at Mop’s brother. As he moved toward the man with the injured leg, he shrugged with what he hoped looked like compassion, showing he meant peace. The blood from the shattered leg oozed violently, and bits of bone fragments were blended with mangled flesh. David wrapped the leg with the net. When he pressed a button, the net made an imploding motion and suctioned onto the leg. The man groaned but smiled in relief. Blood stopped flowing.

  “My name is Paul.” The elder man bowed. He had a unique neck scar that stood out in the room’s lighting. It was a ghastly white swirl. “And this is Patrick.” He indicated the younger version of himself. “And this is Mark.” He indicated the injured black man. The younger men nodded as their names were spoken. The kindly man stepped forward, holding out his hand. The palms were calloused from some sort of manual labor. Surprising for a leader. “This is my son, and this is his friend, a coworker. They are missionaries.” The leader waggled the extended hand toward David.

  This hand means something? I’m supposed to respond to this hand gesture. David had seen the slaves use such a greeting. A sign of peace and acknowledgment maybe. This is good, David thought.

  “Put your hand away,” the captain demanded, nervous about any movement. The officer’s gun raised a fraction of an inch, threateningly. To diffuse the situation, David stepped in front of the gun and shook hands, a human being sign of agreement. It felt strange using something that Tara had taught him just the other day. It worked. No shots were fired.

  As the strain in the group subsided, David dared to hope that dialogue was possible. “Leave the debris for the moment and discuss matters at table.” He indicated a conference room adjacent to the large hall with a round black table in the center. “We can team build.”

  “You mean negotiate?” Mark asked.

  “Same thing,” Manda informed them.

  “God, you people are strange.” Pat said bitterly.

  Tall glass bulletproof walls around the room were scratched from the recent firefight. The two uninjured invaders raised their hurt companion between them so they could all get to the table.

  Boom. And thud. The group halted in midstep. Mark’s body thudded to the floor between the other two Tri-Coalitionaries. Pastor Mark was dead, a hole where his heart had been.

  “Just saving you boys the trouble of having to kill him later.” Causally the captain shrugged. “Without a leg—a useless human.”

  “Thanks, Captain.” David said, grateful for the help.

  The captain explained, “He cannot fully contribute to society.”

  Seeing the looks of anger, David explained. “And there is no use in having him burden our team building.” The QC officer blew away smoke from the pistol and returned it to a self-made holster on his belt, in easy reach, as he stood with both legs spread and arms clasped behind him in formal parade style. The captain declared, “Continue, gentlemen. I’ll oversee these negotiations and decide when to call in support and inform Nnect on our decisions.”

  Patrick looked numbly at the captain. “Why…you’d shoot him?” Disbelief his only emotion—too stunned to react. As the shock wore off, he began to seethe with
anger. Paul remained calm. The two knelt by their friend. Paul reached out a hand to close Mark’s eyelids. The vacant eyes made David shiver.

  Paul put a hand on his son’s fist, stopping him from attacking the captain. He encouraged, in a prayerlike voice, “There’s a time to be born and a time to die. A time to plant and a time to uproot.”

  Patrick took a deep, steadying breath. He shook with suppressed rage but continued the mantra. “A time to kill and a time to heal. A time to weep and a time to laugh.”

  The father brushed an invisible cross with his fingers on Mark’s forehead. The terminated human being looks so much like Frank, David thought.

  The two invaders prayed in unison: “A time to mourn and a time to dance. A time to love and a time to hate.”

  The father held the back of his son’s neck with a stern hand, a gesture of intimacy. In what David imagined was a fatherly tone, he said over the dead pastor, “A time for war and a time for peace. A time to search and a time to give up.” The son nodded, tears streaming down his face. “Now is such a time of searching. It’s a time to search. Do you hear me?” The son nodded again. He brushed the tears away.

  Captain Jonathan didn’t notice or care about the distress he had caused. They marched into the conference room.

  “I’ll send for food from the kitchen robots,” Manda said in a soothing, apologetic voice. And she was true to her word, typing commands immediately into a panel on the conference room wall.

  An hour later, the group was settled into seats and talking, with hot drinks and food. David was pleasantly surprised the group had made it through this hour peacefully. The past hour had been an intense battle of wills, as the vengeful Patrick and the strict Jonathan seemed on the verge of killing each other.

  “Again, we want to free our friends whom your military kidnapped. We’re not spying.” Paul was the most calming influence in the group. A natural peacemaker, Paul had convinced his angry son to calm down for the sake of the mission. He pursued a line of discussion, trying to find out what was happening to the missionaries’ families. He insisted they had come to rescue and not attack. The captain wasn’t buying it.

  “They came here because I messaged them,” David insisted, thinking that Paul’s reasoning made sense. “They’re not the tip of some enormous insurgent force, Jonathan.” Opposite Paul in negotiations but also supportive of a peaceful agreement, David was attempting to pacify and subdue the hardheaded lawman. His freedom depended upon this working.

  Thrive fruit juice and chicken wraps were served. David swayed in the comfortable rocking chairs. The chairs were huddled about the common table, the top of which was a computer touch screen, used for presentations—a focal point for collaboration efforts.

  David observed the invaders as they interacted. They seemed to adapt to the technology in the lab quickly, including door-opening commands, computer prompts, and the complex building layout. They stumbled like children at times, attempting commands or prompts that served no purpose, but they nevertheless acquired a functional command of the technology. David noted that these Tri-Coalition people must have similar technology. They were people learning a new dialect but not an entirely new language. Interesting indeed.

  After several minutes of silence, as they devoured the food, the group became more open to reengaging in dialogue. Paul started over. “I’m Paul Joan, and my daughter-in-law, her father, along with others from our missionary settlement, were captured by your armed forces. We’ve come to free them. This is my son Patrick, Tara’s husband.”

  The bracelet on his wrist makes sense. David thought. Feeling the need to reintroduce those present, he pointed at Doc Gus, Captain Jonathan, Manda, and lastly himself, introducing them each in turn.

  “How did you barbarians find your way to this location and get past the city’s outer detection ring?” Jonathan retorted somewhat angrily. He wasn’t interested in tradition, culture, negotiation, or sentiment. Safety and security were paramount.

  Patrick replied with stifled anger, “Not the ones sneaking around and stealing women and children. Barbarians indeed. Your entire civilization is a—”

  Paul placed a calming arm on his son, encouraging him to stop the rant before a fight broke out. “We received a signal from here, from a transmitter that my daughter wore. Our shuttle uses a new technology that cloaks it.”

  “Am I to believe two random low-class missionary rats have access to such tech?” the captain accused.

  “I am a high-ranking government official, but I did steal this ship to get us here.” Paul pointed at the ruined craft.

  “You can cloak your shuttles?” Manda asked.

  The captain added, “How come you human being scum haven’t invaded in full force?”

  “Our government has generally aimed to keep communications open and start dialogue with Xchange.”

  “Thanks to the work of lawmakers and lobbyists like my wife, Tara Joan!” The captain raged. “Now that you kidnapped her, not sure such peaceful policy will continue.” The captain and Patrick growled at each other.

  Paul nodded his head. “Most of the government seeks to work with Xchange and not attack. Well, that’s the current policy from the president’s office.”

  Patrick tore his eyes from the captain and explained, “I used to believe that negotiations were possible. I spent much of my life waiting for the opportunity to open dialogue with Xchange…”

  “Pat, your sacrifice is a pilgrimage, not a single event.” David had no idea what that was all about.

  Patrick responded to his dad, with a glimmer of tears in his eyes. “But after the corporate monsters took my wife, war may be the only solution. I’ll support the prowar party with my next presidential vote.”

  “Relax, son. Rage doesn’t heal conflict.”

  “You sound like Tara and Mark.” Patrick turned to the Nnectonians. “Too bad you captured or killed your advocates. Animals.”

  “We here in this room were not the ones capturing anyone,” Manda answered. She changed the subject to avoid further tension. “The ship you came in is really small.”

  David had looked it over too. As an engineer, he was intrigued by the different technologies. “I noticed the embedded silver LED ring around the ship, which is partially smashed.”

  Manda finished the question. “A fragile projection device similar to the LEDs that are the backbone of our 3D projectors?

  Paul considered his response before saying, “Our government ship has technology that isn’t yet suited for more robust military operations or even able to withstand installation on large ships. So you have no need to fear a major attack Manda.”

  “We can all relax then,” Manda said, more to the captain than anyone else.

  Paul continued his speech after a brief smile of acknowledgment to Manda. “Our technology has been successful on small ships, and only a few have been made. One such ship was donated to the missionary charity in hopes that communication might be established with Xchange. I was one of the delegates bringing the ship to the community. A conference of missionary leaders was assembled to discuss ship applications. There was a debate of sending a team of outreach ambassadors to Xchange. But when my son received Tara’s transmission, a few of us stole the ship and came here in haste against.”

  “Against our country’s commands,” Patrick said bitterly.

  “Tara didn’t transmit that signal. David-23 of Nnect illegally sent that communication,” Doc Gus said, after a bit of silence. He motioned to Paul to continue his narrative but was interrupted by Patrick.

  “It was during this conference that your military force landed and kidnapped our innocent families and brought them here. You are slavers and animals. Who takes kids and old people?” Patrick accused.

  Annoyed, David countered with a logical statement. “We use everyone equally here. We are an equal-opportunity society in Xchange. Mayhap you should have defended your precious property a little more wisely.” Gosh, these people are stupid.

>   Doc Gus stroked his beard. “Let’s hear one another out before we fight over matters of policy.”

  Paul nodded. “Agreed. Calm down, everyone. We will never get anywhere at this rate. I am being open about our capabilities; I ask that during this dialogue we maintain a productive respect. No more hateful words as we try to come to an agreement.” His mustache twitched pleasantly. This man could stand up to any CEO in a debate, humble but commanding. His approach to debate were very countercultural to the Corporate States, which was arrogant, demanding. Interesting. Commanding without demanding. Not a sales pitch but an invitation.

  Manda added a brief explanation of Nnect’s situation, speaking up now that the stage was set. Her soothing voice was matter-of-fact. “One of the investment slaves insinuated on several occasions that her husband—I assume that’s you—would pay anything to have her back.”

  “How does one pay for a given right?”

  Paul waved down his offended son and motioned for Manda to continue. Captain Jonathan remained silent for the time being. Manda nodded to David.

  David picked up the explanation, hoping they would grasp the situation. “I’m in a precarious position, because all twenty of our captured investments—I mean, your family members—were stolen from this secure facility. Their containment homes were raided earlier today by traitors.” He held a finger up to keep the group silenced while he finished. “Nnect could recoup these losses if we barter with you.” Now for the punchline—he signed the X on his forehead. “You pay us for the return of your family slaves, members. We’ll use that money to invest in a corporate offensive investigation to convict the culprits.” Nervously, he glanced at the captain; it was crucial he went along.

  Manda added, “This isn’t what we originally intended with our grand endeavor, by any means, but with enough funds we may be able turn this into a profitable situation.”

  David waited to let the proposition sink in before saying, “The QC captain will literally have my entire team rehabilitated or sold if I do not figure out a way to regain our loss.”